The lady who had just finished her dinner started to walk away from the end of the bar when she spun around and stared at me with bug eyes through glasses the size of tennis balls.
"What time do you usually go to bed at night?" She asked.
On a scale of one to ten on the creep-o-meter, this was probably a 7.
"Um, usually about 12 or one a.m." I said.
This was a classic "senior moment."
I've seen this happen more and more lately. A member starts to slip more and more into senility and they blurt out the first thing that pops into their head.
Once, a man starting to succumb to Alzheimer's who always sat in the first seat in the bar looked straight at me and said sharply, "have you seen a dress?"
"Uhh, I've seen lots of dresses." I responded. The man shook it off and took another bite of his cheeseburger.
It's tough to see the people who have been at the Cedars as long as I have start to slip more and more.
There's a look they get when they lose a thought. It's almost like instead of something being on the tip of their tongues in on the tip of their brains. You ask them what they want to drink. They know what it is they want but they can't remember what it's called. You can almost see the thought float away or something. And then they finally say, "the usual."
But this is another benefit of living at the Cedars, because 7 out of ten times there is someone at the stool next to them or at the same table with them to say something like, "I did that the other day," or "I do that all the time."
"That's why they call it a senior moment," they'll say; and they laugh it off together.